Still Breathing
by iCamfest
Summary: Hermione was still breathing...for now. Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Harry Potter. I'm just borrowing them. No copyright infringement is intended.


A/N: Don't hate me because my mind is a corrupt well of angst ;-)

Still Breathing

She was still breathing. It was not from lack of trying I assure you. I had sharpened my tongue until my lips were spitting razorblades. Calculated insults carefully designed to cut straight through flesh and bone had rolled off of my cold tongue in waves of animosity. I had watched as my harsh words shredded her outer defenses and made jagged the edges of her Soul. I had watched as she stood tall, puffed in pride, as blow after ruthless blow hit her square in the chest, teasing the fringes of her self-worth. Her heart was still beating, but I had watched as my verbal assault drained the color from her face, the shine from her eyes, and the life from her veins. She was still breathing, but no one could say that she was alive.

It had taken me awhile to determine how to break her, but the task had been given to me so graciously by the Dark Lord, that I would not let him down. I would break her. I would drain her of information, and then I would take her life. At first I had attempted torture. Pain had had no lasting effect on her, aside from the joy that swelled in my own heart at hearing her cries of agony.

I had held a mirror up to her face after the third day of torture. _Even if you make it out of this alive, _I had said,_ no one will want you now. No one will ever look at you and see beauty, not like I do. They'll know that you have been tainted. Pain has licked at the edges of your Soul and has tasted the onset of Apathy. You will never know love from anyone but me._ I had cradled her face in my hand. I would make her beg for me, for death, until when I pointed my blade at her she would feel nothing but gratitude when I finally plunged the cold steel into the muscle that would put an end to all of her suffering.

She was still breathing. This fact was made certain when she had finally looked into the mirror that I held. Her breath had caught in her throat and was released in a strangled cry. Her face had hardened upon seeing her own reflection. Dried blood caked around her nose, her eyes, her ears. There was a gash in her forehead, where her marble skin met her dark, unkempt hair. In my impatience I had struck her with the back of my hand slicing her open with the silver snake coiled around my middle finger. Her hair had been matted with blood and sweat and it had clung to her face and neck in dark clumps. She had panted, fallen to her knees, clutching her heart. Tears had formed in her eyes though I could tell that she was trying hard to will them away.

The memory is so clear, as if just hours ago she was writhing under my blade, screaming. Somewhere in the eight days that she had been under my _care,_ her eyes had faded from shining bright with defiance. They had darkened with lust, pupils dilated, as her pain had turned into pleasure.

I had not expected this.

That was when I knew that this girl would not break with mere physical torture. She was strong, zealous. She still had something to live for, keeping her fighting. If I was going to break her, I was going to have to take that away. I couldn't take away her real friends or family, but I could be very persuasive when I wanted to be. I could make her believe she had nothing to live for. I could find her weaknesses. I could put cracks in her foundation and slither through like water until I could break her apart from the inside.

And I did.

I stood looking into my own mirror. My skin was still flawless, my dark eyes still slightly sunken from years of sleepless nights in Azkaban, nights that I would never be able to get back. My hair still cascaded down my back in thick, black waves. I smiled to myself, a smile that, I had to admit, even in my later years could strike fear in the hearts of the innocent.

Not that there was any innocence left. Voldemort, after his triumph, had made sure to rid the world of that annoyance. She had been the key to His triumph. Her lips had been dripping with secrets. In the end, all I had to do was feign allegiance to her. Make her believe that she would never be alone. That had been her weakness, her greatest fear, loneliness. I had slipped into her soul through her parted lips. Unleashed my plan in a kiss, a kiss that had planted the seed of doubt on her tongue. She had swallowed greedily in her attempts to keep our mouths attached. This seed had taken deep within her, sprouting tendrils that had grown to fill every fracture in her soul. Those vines had filled her so completely. Had filled her with…lust?

Lust had seemed to seep from her pores with her sweat, clinging to the roots of her hair, pooling in the hollow of her neck, dripping from the tip of her nose and chin. It had collected on her eyelashes and splashed down to the floor each time she blinked. It had been intoxicating. The air around her had been thick with the heady scent of her arousal. Her senses had been so heightened by days of torture that her nerves were screaming to be touched. I had set down my blade, pretending to be planning the next stages of her torment.

I remember sauntering up to her; the heavy swing of my hips had always been one of my best features. Her eyes on had been locked on me like a tigress stalking her prey. She had looked hungry and unrestrained as my fingers ghosted over the buttons of her blouse. My lips had been on her skin in seconds. My hungry mouth had devoured her flesh, kissing her jaw line, teeth tearing at the skin of her neck. I was not a gentle companion, but as I look back on it now, I don't think she was looking for gentle. My fingers had thrust inside of her until blood ran down her thighs; still she screamed for more. Climax after climax had shaken her body until the trembling had turned into a constant, something we both had grown used to.

I had pushed sincerity into my eyes as I delivered my final blow. The three words that I knew would send her over the edge. In the end, her secrets had drained from her body in the sweat seeping from her pores, the blood and cum dripping down her thighs, even in the sighs and moans escaping her lips. I had gotten what I came for. I had cast her aside then, my lips spewing insults, even laughing at her naivety. _No one could ever love filth like you, _I remember having said. I had watched her heart break as the realization of what had happened hit her full force. It was more beautiful than anything words could ever describe. Her chocolate eyes filled with tears of betrayal, of shame, and there was a glint of something that I still can't quite, to this day, put my finger on.

I didn't kill her that day. I had left her there broken and used, to be found by her friends. She would never pose a threat to the Dark Lord again, not like this. Watching her friends and family die in the end had only broken her further, put more cracks in her already shattered soul.

So her heart still beats. She still wakes up every morning, and goes to bed every night. I sometimes wonder what she is doing, what she is thinking. The few times I had indulged in checking up on her, my heart had been overcome with joy. She still eats her meals, and she still reads her books. But, she is a shell. Hollow in every sense of the word. Her stare is vacant, almost as if she is waiting on something, someone. Perhaps she is still waiting for me, to come and make good on all of my promises. Yes, she is still breathing, but no one can say that she is alive.


End file.
